Awakening Spring–dVerse Meeting the Bar

Today for dVerse Meeting the Bar I’ve asked that we write poems that focus on verbs. To do this I searched my archives for a spring poem–this one written in 2010 and have revised it to clean it up a bit with an emphasis on active verbs. The first poem is the revision.

Awakening Spring

Do you remember clouds
like white dogs bounding
across empty skies?

Or coupling dragonflies,
their wings shaved slivers–
moonstone-shimmering?

Nearby, leaves moldered.
Their smell mingled with
scents of sweat and love.

A chorus of crickets undulated
in an outdoor theater,
unabashed by our nakedness.

Grass scratching, breeze licking
aroused bliss,
foreshadowed tomorrow’s spring .

Photo: zenfolio

This is the original–not too bad as far as verbs, but a little wordy.

Spring

Do you remember the cloud
that looked like a white dog bounding
across the empty gray sky?

Or the coupling dragonflies,
their wings shaved slivers of
shimmering moonstone or fire opal?

Nearby, something moldered in dank earth.
Its smell mingled with
the scent of our sweat and sex.

A chorus of crickets undulated
in an outdoor theater,
unabashed by our nakedness.

You told me to get on top because
the grass beneath our blanket scratched me.
A breeze licked my body.

Do you think that it was love?
Or maybe because tomorrow would be spring.

I invite you to join us at dVerse since this is my last time hosting…at least in the foreseeable future. I’ve assumed the role of caregiver for a while. And that’s what enduring love means for the long haul.

 

Radical Surgery

A thoracic surgeon performs a mitral valve replacement at the Fitzsimons Army Medical Center. Slovenščina: Kirurgi med operacijo. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Radical Surgery
Octain

The day I diagnosed your treachery,
excised deception from my fragile life,
I cauterised my heart, scrubbed clean of strife.

How to assess what you have done to me?
the lies you told, emotions cold,
anesthetized my longing to be free.

I close the wound incised with your dull knife,
Debride my feelings of your treachery.

Written for today’s Poetics at dVerse Poets’ Pub in which we are asked by the incomparable Karin Gustafson to choose active verbs from one profession and apply them to a completely different scenario. I’ve chosen to use Luke Prater’s Octain form. Check out his site to learn more about it.

And…I suspect I’m not the only one out there who’s dated a sociopath?

Wordsmith Wednesday–A Love Affair with Words

I’m in love with verbs. Properly chosen, a verb can replace adjectives and add life to your manuscript. Here’s a suggestion for editing: Do a word search for boring, passive verbs–variations of to be, to have–you get the idea. Evaluate adjectives and adverbs. Is there a verb that will better create the desired effect and inject a shot of life into your work?

I’ll give you an example from “Winter is Past.” Claire, my protagonist, is with her donor, Kathryn, who’s receiving dialysis. I could have written:

I had memories of dialysis when I sat in a chair and chemicals cleaned my blood. There were lots of unpleasant side effects. I was waiting for a cadaver transplant.

While that sums up the scene, do you really have a sense of what Claire experienced? Here’s what I wrote, instead:

A flashback swamped me and I broke out in a sweat. Memories of hours bound to a recliner poured in: claret red blood cycling in and out of my body; chemicals dispensed by a machine that beeped and groaned; nausea, weakness, restless legs and insomnia; the thought that someone would have to die in order that I might live.

Now, let me show you how verb choices can enrich a poem:

Textures

About five-thirty

the morning of Friday before

day-light-saving-time,

light spills through blinds,

pools into discrete

silver puddles

at the foot of my bed.

Through the half-moon window

near the ceiling,

swatches of gray satin

unfurl across the sky.

Tears in the fabric

allow slices of blue to

peek through,

toss hope in my face.

In that shadowy space between

asleep and awake

ideas pelt my brain

so I can’t escape back into

my dream about the circus

where I rode barefoot,

standing on the rough coat

of a white mare.

I slip into awareness.

Cold smooth wood

greets my feet as I stand

and yawn.

My dog

shakes her silky fur, glares at

me for interrupting her dreams.

We stretch, enter the day,

touch life.

Writer beware. Don’t force it. If it’s stilted your writing will become cumbersome. He said, she said works fine most of the time. You don’t want to distract the reader’s by using words like retorted, exclaimed, insisted. Take a look at a scene or a poem with an eye for variations of verbs like to be, to have, to go and ask yourself if you have other choices that will liven up your writing.

(Note: this post is adapted from a previous post 3/10/10–but back then, nobody was reading my blog!)

Wordsmith Wednesday–Active Verbs

I’m in love with verbs. Properly chosen, a verb can replace adjectives and add life to your manuscript. Here’s a suggestion for editing: Do a word search for boring, passive verbs–variations of to be, to have–you get the idea. Evaluate adjectives and adverbs. Is there a verb that will better create the desired effect and inject a shot of life into your work?

I’ll give you an example from “Winter is Past.” Claire, my protagonist, is with her donor, Kathryn, who’s receiving dialysis. I could have written:

I had memories of dialysis when I sat in a chair and chemicals cleaned my blood. There were lots of unpleasant side effects. I was waiting for a cadaver transplant.

While that sums up the scene, do you really have a sense of what Claire experienced? Here’s what I wrote, instead:

A flashback swamped me and I broke out in a sweat. Memories of hours bound to a recliner poured in: claret red blood cycling in and out of my body; chemicals dispensed by a machine that beeped and groaned; nausea, weakness, restless legs and insomnia; the thought that someone would have to die in order that I might live.

Now, let me show you how verb choices can enrich a poem:

Textures 

About five-thirty

the morning of Friday before

day-light-saving-time,

light spills through blinds,

pools into discrete

silver puddles

at the foot of my bed.

Through the half-moon window

near the ceiling,

swatches of gray satin

unfurl across the sky.

Tears in the fabric

allow slices of blue to

peek through,

toss hope in my face.

In that shadowy space between

asleep and awake

ideas pelt my brain

so I can’t escape back into

my dream about the circus

where I rode barefoot,

standing on the rough coat

of a white mare.

I slip into awareness.

Cold smooth wood

greets my feet as I stand

and yawn.

My dog

shakes her silky fur, glares at

me for interrupting her dreams.

We stretch, enter the day,

touch life.

Writer beware. Don’t force it. If it’s stilted your writing will become cumbersome. He said, she said works fine most of the time. You don’t want to distract the reader’s by using words like retorted, exclaimed, insisted.